Visitors at Night
by Connie Emeline Sypher
Summary: They call them the Black Eyed Children. They say that no one knows where they came from, or if they even really exist. All that Kurt Hummel knows is that when he answers the door to his apartment on that cold night, the creatures knocking most definitely weren't children.
1. Visitors at Night

**Not sure where i'm going with this. Don't ask me about Best of Enemies, I have no idea what i'm doing with it (MAJOR writer's block). This is kind of different to my other story because it's horror. I'm not even sure what pairing in using, or if there is even going to be a pairing. I'm just really confused and not sure. Have fun.**

The soft knocking on the door broke through his dream: he was backstage of the Book of Mormon show on Broadway and was arguing with Sutton Foster about how shoulder pads were so last year. His eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as he clenched his eyes shut tightly, trying to will himself back to sleep so that he could finish his fashion-related rant as the angry voice of Sutton Foster merged into a high-pitched, nasally, yet equally angry voice, coming from the direction of the television, effectively ending his dream.  
At a second knock, he let out a low groan and stuffed his face into the pillows, blanket falling from his legs and onto the floor into the process.  
"Go away," Kurt croaked, too softly for the person outside to hear, his voice hoarse from sleep.  
The knocking continued, to his dismay, and he let out another groan and a barely contained sigh as his lifted his legs onto the floor and pushed himself up off the couch. So much for having the weekend off work to catch up on sleep.  
He stretched his back briefly and rolled his head, wincing at the stiffness of his shoulders and neck, the consequence of falling asleep on the small two-seater whilst watching reruns of Housewives of Atlanta. Again.  
Kurt shuffled sleepily towards the television and switched it off, immediately silencing the blonde woman who had previously been complaining on the screen. Another knock.  
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 1:34 am. Who the fuck was knocking at his door at this time? His mind immediately bounced to the fact that it could be a murderer or some kind of mafia member, waiting for him to open the door so that they could kidnap him or kill him... Or it could be Rachel, coming to him for cuddles and "you're too good for him" 's after breaking up with yet another boyfriend. Either way, the knocking at the door was getting louder and the only way to stop it was to see who was on the other side.  
As he stepped carefully towards the front door to the apartment, it was as if the knocker had sensed his approach: the tapping stopped immediately. He froze mid-step.  
The knocking started again.  
He scoffed and rolled his eyes, hand extending towards the handle. A sudden feeling of dread and coldness swept over him and sent a shiver down his spine, a voice inside his head screamed at him to not answer, to run into his bedroom, shut the door and hide under the covers.  
He laughed to himself nervously, passing off the feeling as being half asleep and still being tipsy after the two glasses of wine he'd had a few hours earlier, and swung the door open before he could talk himself out of it. His eyebrows rose at the sight before him and he let out a soft gasp.  
"Hello there, sir."  
Two children stood hand in hand in the hallway, about a metre from his door. The one who spoke was barely a teenager, brown tousled curls framing his round face, dressed in a dark blue hoodie and jeans. The other, a girl about six or seven years old, wore a plain white dress, her long, blonde hair cascading down her back. However, it wasn't the sight of the two being outside his apart at such early hours, on their own, or the fact that the boy's accent held a slight twang of what could only be described as French that caused him to gasp, it was the fact that the unblinking eyes of the two children were black. Completely and utterly black.

...

"I..."  
Closing his eyes, he shook his head quickly. Maybe he had had more to drink than he'd remembered. He was just imagining things. Yes, he had had a lot of wine and now he was just imagining things, he told himself.  
Kurt took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily as he opened his eyes again, squinting slightly as they adjusted to the dim light of the hallway. He hadn't been imagining it. The children were still there, their coal black eyes boring into his.  
The boy stepped forward slightly, his head tilting slowly to the side in an almost curious manner. Like a predator watching its prey squirm. "Please, sir. Won't you let us in?"  
The warning voice in his head was back, screaming at him furiously. He hand clenched the door frame tighter as he swallowed around the dryness in his throat.  
"N..W-where are your..your parents?" He stuttered. His voice was high with nerves and his heart fluttered violently in his chest. He needed to shut the door, to hide away from these..not-children, but his body refused to respond to his mind's warning.  
He watched as the girl glanced towards the boy and back; the boy remained facing him but a slightly glimmer of irritation flickered across his face. He repeated. "Please, sir," the boy let go of the girl's and stepped toward slightly, causing the man to take a step back, "Won't you let us in?"  
"We're awfully hungry, sir." kurt's head swung towards the little girl who piped up in a soft, high voice. He watched the small smile slowly grace the boy's face.  
"I.. I haven't been food shopping today." He mentally slapped himself at the stupid response, but was too terrified to really care at that moment. He was starting to feel slightly light-headed and his breaths were coming out too fast and too shallow. The boy seemed to notice his nervousness and stepped forward again. They were almost toe to toe now.  
The boy looked up at him from under his eyelashes, his voice taking on a hint of innocence. "Please let us in. We won't stay long. We'll leave straight after we get..," he turned towards the girl, an unspoken message passing between them. The boy turned back towards him, "...what we want."  
Kurt violently snapped out of his trance at the implication of the boys words and stumbled back a step.  
"LEAVE!" He shouted frantically. The boy lowered his head, glaring furiously at him and the light of the hallway flickered rapidly. The little girl moved forward and slipped her hand into the boy's, her own face expressing her anger.  
"Let. Us. In." He growled as the light bulb in the hallway popped; the only remaining light being a lamp in his apartment which casted a ghostly shadow over the two, adding to Kurt's terror.  
A small hand moved forward out of the darkness, twisting towards him; he was unsure of which child it belonged to, but didn't care as he moved back and quickly slammed the door shut, only hesitating for half a second before slamming the locks into place.  
Then the voice spoke through the door.  
"Oh sir," it sang, almost mockingly, "please let us in."  
It was the little girl.  
Kurt ran towards the bedroom, jumping onto his bed and under the covers before the bedroom door had even shut. He tucked the quilt in around his legs and arms and head, not even giving himself enough room to breathe properly as he secured himself. Once he was sure that no part of his body was exposed to the cold air of the bedroom, he sat and he waited.  
The silence that followed was thick with tension.  
A minute passed.  
Two minutes.  
A soft rattle against the bedroom window startled him and he tucked his head into his knees and clamped his eyes shut, his hands tightening their grip on the quilt. Pretend you're asleep ,he told himself, just pretend you're asleep and they'll leave you alone.  
The rattling stopped and the silence began again.  
Hours passed, without any more knocks or voices and eventually, for the second time that night, Kurt fell asleep and dreamt.  
This time, however, the dreams consisted of coal, black eyes, children's laughter, and his own blood-curdling screams.


	2. Daylight

**Hi, so I decided to continue this because writing horror is actually quite fun. Also, I've decided that this is gonna be a Kurtbastian horror fic so Mr Smythe will be introduced a little later on (but not too much later). I hope you don't get too annoyed about how short the chapters are ( I tend to waffle on for ages then realise how little I've actually written). So, yeah, enjoy :) (Also: Please rate and review!)**

His eyes flew open and he gasped loudly, sitting up in his bed. The sweat-drenched sheets were tangled around his legs, his shirt clinging to his body. Kurt panted harshly and he looked around the room, realising that he was alone. _I'm okay,_ he thought to himself, relieved_, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay. It was just a bad dream._

He lowered himself back down, catching his breath and swallowing the wave of nausea that had hit him; placing his right hand over his heart, he felt it flutter under his palm like a trapped bird, so fragile, just like he had been in his dream. He shuddered. It was only when he realised that he was wearing his clothes that the previous night's events then seemed to hit him and he scrambled back against the headboard, eyes darting wildly around the room. The knock at the door, the fear, he could still taste it, the eyes. Oh the eyes. Dull, black empty pits, void of emotion. His head swung towards the covered window, where the _**tap tap tap**_ of the children's fingers had echoed less than a day earlier. There didn't seem to be any shadows on the blinds of the window, and the bedroom door was still closed firmly shut. Had he just imagined it? Was it just one of his vivid nightmares haunting him?  
Swallowing around the sudden dryness that had taken over his throat, he carefully placed his feet on the floor, one at a time, and held his breath. Silence. When he decided that he was momentarily safe and that there wasn't a monster under the bed that was going to reach out and grab his legs, he stood and made his way towards the window.

The cord of the blind slipped in his sweaty hand; he took a deep breath and pulled. Daylight shone in through the window, casting warm rays onto the wooden floor of his bedroom. He looked out onto the car park, where one of the residents in the apartment below, Francine, was climbing out of her car, purse in hand, and allowed himself a moment's relief. Now for the door.

He turned to face the room and eyed the bedroom door warily. There was nothing physically different about it, its was still the same, plain brown door that it had been for the past two years, only now it seemed like a gateway to Kurt, from the safety and comfort of his bedroom to the uncertainty of the apartment that lay beyond. This door wasn't the one he really had to worry about, however, he knew that.  
The daylight seemed to give Kurt a small boost of confidence to step towards the door, the floorboards creaking slightly under his feet; he grasped the handle. Slowly and shakily, he turned the knob to the left, his ears catching the soft click as it opened. It's okay. He could do this, he told himself, all he had to do was peek his head round the door, check that the coast was clear and that he was alone, and he'd be fine. He pulled.  
The door creaked on its hinges, a low whine escaping from the joints, revealing the rest of his apartment. Everything was still in its place, untouched, the way that Kurt had left it the previous night. The blanket that had fell off of Kurt as he had stood up to answer the door was still in a pile on the floor next to the couch, the television remote left on the arm. His eyes darted toward the door to the apartment and a shudder ran through his body at the sight of white, peeling wood with the dingy chain of the lock above the handle. That had been his only protection last night, that slab of wood and rusty chain. Thinking about it now, Kurt realised how ridiculous the idea of it seemed, but nevertheless it had prevented the two from clawing their way after him.

He glanced towards the phone on the coffee table. He could phone someone, anyone, to come over and tell him that there's no one there. That he'd imagined everything. He could tell Rachel that he wasn't feeling well and that she should come over and they could cuddle up with ice-cream and watch Moulin Rouge for the hundredth time. The idea was so tempting… _But what if they were outside the door_, he thought. Still there, waiting for him. What if Rachel did come over and they were the when she arrived at the door? Would he really want to risk the life of his best friend because he was too scared to open his front door? No, he could do this. He _would_ do this.

It was time for him to face the inevitable, he decided. He couldn't stay in his apartment for the rest of his life; he would have to leave at some point. The rest of the apartment blurred around him as his eyes focused slowly on the door. On its handle.  
Pinpricks of fear littered his back as he stepped; the ticking of the clock on the wall banging in his head.

_**Tick.**__**  
**_Step.  
_**Tock.**_**  
**Step.  
_You can do this._  
_**Tick.**_  
Step.  
_Run._  
_**Tock.**_  
Step.  
_They won't even be there.__  
__**Tick.**_

He came to a halt, about a metre away from the door, heart fluttering rapidly in his throat, hands trembling. The ticking of the clock now ran through his body. He could feel every thud, every beat, pulse through him from his feet to his head, to his hand stretching toward the door. His fingers twitched as they stroked the smooth, cold handle. I can do this, he told himself. It's just a door.  
Kurt's right hand reached up and carefully slid the lock of the chain across, before it fell, dangling off the wall. He took a deep breath and nodded slowly to himself; he could do this.

Kurt braced himself, feet firmly on the ground as his fist tightened over the handle, his right hand placed on the wall, ready to provide force if he needed to slam the door shut again. If they were there. Waiting. The pounding in his head was thickening, the white noise in the silence making it throb along to the ticking of the clock. All of the pressure inside of him, the slight shaking of his knees, the sweatiness of his palm on the wall, the low swooping of his stomach, the stuttering of his breath as it left his chapped lips in short bursts, intensified. He pulled the handle down, his body screaming at him to run. He felt sick, so sick.

The door swung back violently on its hinges, pulled open with a greater force than necessary, the slam of it hitting the wall knocking a high shriek out of Kurt as he dodged back. Air heaved in through his nose and his eyes frantically darted around the opening, his heart pumping thickly. The doorway was empty.

Kurt swallowed and edged forward, his hand tightly gripping the door frame as he ever so slowly leaned his head out and scanned the hallway. No one there.

_Oh._

He let out a sound; half surprised, half relieved, and closed his eyes, a small smile coming on his face. _Thank __**fuck**_. He laughed again at himself,_ I'm such an idiot_, shaking his head at how Rachel would laugh and tease him when he told her about his embarrassing reaction to his vivid dream. Because that's what it had been, a dream. A small part of him protested, small enough to be ignored, as he grabbed the door to close it. If he'd had turned his head away, back towards the inside of the apartment, a second earlier he would have missed it. But, he didn't. So he saw the flash of red in his peripheral vision. He saw and he turned towards it. He read the red letters that had been scratched onto the door and his stomach dropped, cold, liquidy fear creeping into his blood. Not a dream. Real.

_**You can't hide forever, Kurt Hummel.**_


	3. Confusion

**Another chapter? Already? Whatttt? ;)**

He called Rachel. He told her he was ill and to bring any musical movies that she owned. He only had to wait half an hour, enough time for him to change his sheets, quickly jump in the shower and start to towel dry his hair, before there was a knock at the door. He froze mid-rub, the damp towel slipping from his fingers and onto the floor; his head snapped up and he caught his terrified expression in the mirror in front of him: his glasz eyes were wide and his short, damp hair stuck out in all angles.

He knew it was Rachel. It had to be. She said she'd come over to cuddle him and make him her dad's special home made tomato soup, a dish that Rachel insisted would cure him of any coughs or colds in mere hours, and now here she was, knocking on his door. However, telling himself these things did nothing to slow down the frantic beating of his heart or the rush of the past day's events running through his mind.

Kurt slowly turned and walked out of the bathroom, eyes trained on the front door.

"R..Rachel?"

His voice was hoarse and quiet; clearing his throat, he called out again.

"Rachel?"

A moment of silence.

"Kurt?! Come on open up! It's cold out here!" Rachel. He let out a sigh of relief and made his way towards the door to relieve his friend from the cold. The frustrated tone in her voice turned into one of confusion. "What's that on your-"

The door swung open.

"—door?"

Kurt glanced in the direction of Rachel's horrified stare. She silently mouthed out the words, her eyebrows furrowing and drawing together in confusion. Of course she would see the note, he'd forgotten it was there after the relief of finding out that Rachel was 'right on her way' after he'd phoned.

His eyes cut back to hers which were now surveying his face, almost accusingly, and she opened her mouth to speak before deciding against it and glancing at the red marks again.

"You're not ill? Are you?"

It was more of a statement then a question. Her brown eyes were filed with worry as she stared up at him and his heart began to flutter slightly again. Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, he too glanced at the red note again before letting out a weary and shaky sigh, and running one hand down his face.

"No. No I'm not."

* * *

They sat wrapped up in blankets at opposite ends of the couch, a warm cup of hot chocolate in clutched in both of their hands, the quiet murmur of the television filling up the background silence. After the short break in their conversation, Rachel was the first to speak.

"So their eyes... were black?"

Kurt nodded. He slid lower into the blankets and brought the steaming mug up to his lips, inhaling the sweet smell of warm chocolate which instantly helped calmed his nerves a little. Rachel let out a small 'huh' before leaning over and placing her full mug onto the coffee table. She shuffled on the couch and turned to face Kurt fully.

"You know, Kurt. There are a lot of people who actually do have black eyes."

The small smile that held a hint of pity was enough to shake Kurt out of his nervous state.

"Rachel." His tone was clipped, an abrupt change from his recent demeanour which startled her. It was lucky that she had placed the mug down moments before. "I am not stupid. I know that there are people with black eyes, I'm pretty sure Santana has black eyes. But that's not the point, it's the fact that they were completely black. Not just the pupil, not just the iris, I mean completely, _completely_ black."

Kurt waved his hand around his face as if to add to his explanation, one hand still clutching the mug on his lap. The shorter woman held her hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! I'm not saying that you are stupid or that you made it up, I'm just saying that you may have no seen their eyes properly. I mean", she shifted onto her knees, "You did say it was _late_ at night, and you had just woken up, hadn't you?"

"So what you're saying is maybe I was still half-asleep or something?"Kurt placed his mug down as Rachel shrugged.

"Maybe."

He pulled the blankets tighter over his lap and leaned forward.

"Then explain the note left on the door. You really think that even if it was kids, with or without black eyes, that they would leave a note like that on my door? With my name on it? And don't even get me started on what the might have used to draw it on the door with because that did not look like red felt tip pen to me."

"Okay, okay. So, that part's a bit confusing," Kurt released a small 'mhmm', as if to prove his point, "It could be some one pulling a prank? Maybe some kids from one of the families in another apartment decided to play a prank on you."

"So how'd they get my name?"

"Maybe they asked your neighbour or something. There's got to be a few people who know your name in this building."

_She had a point there._

"And the red... marks?"

"Ketchup."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, fake blood or something, I don't know!"

Kurt leaned back against the arm of the couch, taking everything in that she had said, before speaking carefully.

"So, what you're saying is, a couple of kids, who I have never seen before in this building for the past _two years, _let me mention, just happened to ask a neighbour for my name, buy two pairs of black, sclera contact lenses and drew on my front door with fake blood? Oh. Not to mention the fact that as the boy one got angry, the light bulb in the hallway popped, probably just a coincidence right? Just like the tapping on my _bedroom window_ was just a coincidence? Rachel. I live on the _8__th__ floor_!

Kurt was panting harshly. In the midst of his rant he had stood up, towering over Rachel who was still curled up on the couch, shaking ever-so-slightly. She leaned forward carefully and took his trembling hands in her own.

"Kurt." His eyes were unfocused, darting around the room. They were real. He knew it now. He lived on the 8th floor, his bedroom window overlooking the car park below, and they had tapped at the glass. The two not-children had tapped on the glass sixty feet above the ground.

"Kurt!"

Head eyes whipped backwards towards her, scanning her face quickly. Rachel's big brown eyes were wide and pleading, and her hands soft and reassuring against his as she rubbed small circles on them with her thumbs.

"I'm…I'm sorry." He stuttered, letting himself be pulled gently into Rachel's embrace. She shushed him, her mouth next to his ear, as she lightly rubbed his back. Kurt felt all the tension drain for him as he relaxed in her eyes, a wave of tiredness taking over him, and his own arms wound around her small frame, clutching her gently to his chest. He whispered another apology to her.

"It's okay, you don't need to apologise. You're just scared right now, but it's okay, I'm here."

Kurt thanked whatever god had blessed him with Rachel as his best friend. Sure the two had their falling outs and not to mention the fact that Kurt could not even stand the sight of the girl when he first met her, but after growing up with her in glee club, and spending another couple of years in the same apartment when they first moved into the big city, Rachel felt more like a sister to him than a friend.

She pulled back with a soft smile on her face; he stifled another yawn.

"Come on", she laughed as she took his hand and led him towards his room, "Let's get you tucked up into bed. You're dead on your feet."

Rachel pulled the covers back and he climbed onto the soft mattress allowing himself to be tucked in. Kurt closed his eyes and felt a light brush of lips against his forehead as the soft tendrils of sleep started to wrap around him. He managed to mutter a soft 'thank you', not quite catching the reply, and the darkness took over him.


	4. Late

**I'm sorry that it's late and very short! I've had a crazy week with coursework and work but I have a week off next week so hopefully I'll be able to write a longer chapter for the end of next week. Sorry again that it's so short! If you want to ask me any questions or give me any tips concerning the fic then leave me a message on my tumblr: .com Thanks :)**

He was running, he didn't know what from, he didn't know where to, he just ran. The _slap slap slap_ of his feet and the harsh breaths that escaped his mouth were nearly drowned out by the furious howling of the wind that whipped his hair and stung his eyes. The road in front seemed to be endless, no cars in sight, and the dark night sky above, filled with stars, added to the ghostly shapes of the forest of trees that lined either side of the path. He definitely was no longer in the big city.

A loud growl came from behind him and he glanced back over his shoulder, continuing his never ending sprint along the tarmac. His heart thudded violently in his chest; he remembered now what he was running from.

Behind him, slowly gaining speed and closing the distance between them, was what he could only describe as a monster. It was on all fours, though its front legs were most definitely arms, with its bloodied hands slapping against the road as it ran. Its long spindly body moved quickly towards him, its long, knotted, debris-filled mane of hair blowing behind it in the wind, its ripped mouth stretched tightly into a sinister smile and its eyes, oh the eyes, big and black and empty. Empty of emotion. Empty of a soul.

His backed dripped of sweat as he ran, pushing himself to run faster. That was a mistake.

He landed harshly on his ankle after one particularly long stride and fell to the ground, pain shooting up his leg. Gripping his leg tightly, he attempted to stop the tremor that ran through it and gritted his teeth as the pain flared. A shadow, suddenly growing taller, appeared on the ground in from on him and his eyes wandered slowly upwards. Long feet with long, dirty toe nails to match. Long bony legs, twisted at a slight angle. A thin, emaciated torso, with long arms ending in clawed hands hung at the side. And finally the face. The thin, drawn face, skin stretched tightly over the cheekbones, with the two black orbs staring down at him hungrily. The thing let out a high animalistic whine at the back of its throat before throwing its head back and let out an ear piercing... Siren?

Kurt cocked his head to the side.

The siren blared again and he gripped his hands over his ears tightly.

"STOP!" He screamed, the sound echoing through his body violently, blood starting to drip slowly out of his nose. "STOPPP!"

* * *

"STOPP!" Kurt woke up, the sound of his alarm still blaring loudly next to his bed on the bedside table. _Oh._ _Dreaming again._

He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment's breath. The dream had been vivid, so real, too real almost. The alarm continued beside him, an annoying reminder that he was back in the real world. That he was momentarily safe.  
Kurt sighed before reaching over and turning it off. The clock read 6:46am. It had been

blaring for 46 minutes and meant that Kurt had just under 15 minutes to get ready and leave for work. _Shit._

He remembered Rachel tucking him in on Sunday morning, when he'd nearly collapsed from tiredness. But that was Sunday. His eyebrows rose as he realised that he'd slept for a whole day. _Maybe I really was tired._

Shrugging out of his jogging bottoms and t-shirt that he'd fallen asleep in, Kurt grabbed a white, crisp button up shirt out of his wardrobe and a pair of dark grey, skinny jeans out of his bottom drawer. He paired them with a lighter grey scarf, his black docs and his favourite beetle brooch. Looking in the mirror, he decided that his outfit was a definite change from his normal style; too simple and plain when compared with his usual flamboyant yet fashionable outfits. Now wasn't the time to really care about that though, considering he only had, he checked his watch, 8 minutes left till he had to leave, and he hadn't even attempted to style his hair yet.

At this realisation, Kurt rushed into the bathroom, throwing the cupboard open and grabbing the hairspray before placing it hastily and a little too harshly of the edge of the bathtub, causing it to topple over onto the floor. He let out a groan of frustration, ignoring the can, which had continued to roll away, for now as he attempted to scrape out the knots in his hair using a small, black comb.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror: his chestnut hair stuck up in small, wavy tufts and remained stubborn, the comb often getting caught in the knots, but what caught his eyes the most were the dark, bruise-like marks under his own tired eyes, screaming out ' bad nights sleep' to him. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to look a wreck today.

He groaned again at the stubborn locks and turned frantically in a circle, scanning the floor before his eyes landed on the hairspray that hadn't quite managed to escape the small room, instead being stopped by the edge of the door frame; he turned back to the mirror sprayed his hair in earnest, determined to at least make his hair look presentable to compensate for his off-day clothing choice.

After eating up 7 of the remaining 8 minutes by attempting to style his hair into a somewhat 'tidy' style, Kurt decided he had to make do with however ridiculous his hair looked (the front of his quiff hadn't managed to hold so strongly and several pieces had escaped, hanging over his brow messily) and brush his teeth before leaving for work; breakfast would have to go amiss today.

Kurt finally left the house six minutes later than he'd planned, after telling himself that if he spent just a few more minutes on it, he would be able to fix his hair. He was wrong. While his hair looked slightly better than before, there were still several strands escaping and sticking out, and he was now most likely going to miss the train to work. _Great._


End file.
